Drift
by DarKade
Summary: Sweet little one off Fuffy. Buffy stands at the edge of Sunndale crater and ponders what next?


Drift

By DarKade

You gaze down at the vast crater as the wind rushes past you to fill the void. You watch as distant cliff faces slake off, folding in on themselves and dropping, dropping so slowly, pulverizing the layers below and sending all that remains into the dust.

There is talking. But you barely register what they are saying behind you. The familiar murmur of their voices gives you comfort, a kind resonance over the throb and burn of your battered and bleeding away body.

A single thought spins around your mind. A single feeling.

Freedom.

You catch your name on the breeze. Dawn's voice.

"...What are we going to do now?"

And you smile like you haven't smiled in a million years.

You turn, and face your rag-tag family. Their faces and postures so familiar, so part of your world and who you are… even, you have to admit, yes, even Faith's.

"Well, Dawnie, I for one, am going for the whole 'passing out from bloodloss th…'"

\--

You awake to warmth humming through your aching, chilled limbs. Warmth, yes. And strength, like liquid metal pooling through your veins. The source of the sensations? Warm soft hands wrap around yours, fingers intertwined, keeping your grip on The Scythe. Two strong arms envelop you, and you find yourself laying back against a warm, yielding body. You immediately know who is holding you. The buzz down your spine all you need.

The connection is primal. Always has been. Raw. Exhilarating. And ultimately spinning so out of control that it nearly destroyed you both.

That, magnified through the Scythe? Well, it feels like you are burning up and diving in cool water all at once. You shiver, and feel her pull you in closer.

As you close your eyes, you can see the threads widing out from The Scythe to you, from you to all the Slayers freshly born- and you think it's the most beautiful thing you have ever been a part of. You can almost hear them all dancing and laughing and reeling on the edge of your dreams. Your family is vast now. The world is warmer. Safer. You rise out of sleep, gliding through them like a field of moon lit flowers. You feel their souls play across your open palms as you pass.

For a moment, back at the edge of that precipice, you felt free. To finally be free from Buffy: The Slayer. To be just Buffy. And yet here, now, wrapped in all this belonging, you want nothing more than to be absorbed into it. Duty done. To slide along that silvery line and cease to be Buffy. To bleed through into your glorious daughters. To take the place you should have taken in The Slayer line when The Master killed you. The torch passed to Kendra- then on to Faith, then Rhona, then Kennedy- Vi… on and on- you see how it would have gone had you not broken it. Not just once, but forever.

But she is holding you here. The last called Slayer. The warmth of her, the softness as she cradles you. And the strength. You know you cannot slip away whilst she holds you to The Scythe. Maybe you should resent her for that.

It would be so easy. Drift away.

But it just won't come.

She feels you are awake, she shifts to look down. You turn and meet her gaze. Deep brown eyes with such concern for you. Fear. And for the first time since she told you to 'go ahead' at Angel's place, genuine openness.

You have no words. Slayers are not built for those anyway. A smile. A genuine smile for once, upon her lips.

And you smile too, you lay your head back against her and snuggle in. Her sigh of contentment the last thing you hear before you drift away.

...

You wake in the medical center of Wolfram and Hart, to a haze of painkillers and the smell of plastic tubing. And she isn't there.

And yes, everyone else you care about is here, with that single, saddening exception of Anya, so you wonder why you care that Faith is not there. But it stays with you, that feeling of being in her arms, being warm and safe and belonging in her arms. So you dwell on it. And explore.

And as your body heals, you draw together your feelings and tie them in ribbons of thought, until one day you find yourself sitting in your room in The Hyperion Hotel, and you catch yourself hugging your arms to your body, imagining her contented sigh, and all those memories, and those thought-ribboned feelings melt into one truth.

So, you find where in Boston she is staying from Giles, and you kiss your sister and tell her you will be back soon, you take your ticket and backpack, and catch that flight.

You don't need to check the address, you can feel her pull in your body as you reach the building- that silvery thread that connects all of your kind (you are not alone anymore). That thread that, between you and Faith, is strongest of all.

She opens the door because she feels it to. She knows you are close. Like she did that night you came to kill her.

"You and Woods?" You say, as she looks at you with confusion, and yes, a hint of fear.

"Didn't last a week." She shrugs, "guy had serious mommy issues. Yo."

You swallow, and nod, suddenly uncertain that you can actually say what you have been running over and over and over all the way here, and the week before, besides.

"I'm… I just… I realize that… I mean... I am... " you manage to say, but the message is running from you as you look at her eyes.

"So..." She says, her smokey voice wavering "you and Angel?"

"No. A world of no." You say, and you think she understands now, a relieved smile flickers across those full, inviting lips. (How could you not realise?) She notices where your eyes are, the tip of her tongue wets her lips and her breathing is shaky.

The doorway feels like the edge of a precipice. You have faced those before. The leap feels vast. You have leapt before.

You have come so far. And you think to yourself: _What are we going to do now?_

Leap.

You drop your backpack and step to her, reaching up with both hands to take her cheeks and draw her down that little distance to your lips. And she comes willingly, to make the kiss that marks the start of it all.

…

You lay on her bed and listen to the sound of the busy street below, the night air filled with the bustle of people and the honks of car horns. Sweat slithers down your exhausted and aching body, but you don't care. Faith is behind you, against the headboard and you are lying between her legs and her arms are wrapped around you, and you feel safe and warm and done.

You have no words. Slayers are not built for those anyway. A smile, another genuine smile, upon her lips.

And you smile too. You lay your head back against her and snuggle in. Her sigh of contentment the last thing you hear before you both drift away.


End file.
